


Solas Disapproves

by bamftastik



Series: Dragon Age Drabbles [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamftastik/pseuds/bamftastik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas reflects on Lavellan's burgeoning relationship with Dorian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solas Disapproves

They weren’t even bothering to hide it. Solas sat with a book open on his knees, staring at the page and trying not to listen to the sounds of laughter from the tent next door. Their party had been in the wilds for days, walking ruins that had stood untouched for centuries, uncovering caves and grottos that had yet escaped the ravages of war. It was what he had wanted, at least in part. But that was before the Inquisitor had insisted on bringing the Tevinter with them.

It wasn’t jealousy. Concern, certainly. The young Dalish mage had impressed him. It had been… unexpected. He had not thought to find such an open mind, such a gifted, eager pupil. Since their arrival at Skyhold, the boy had visited him often in his solar, the pair of them burning candles late into the night. They spoke of spirits and old magic, history and dreams. Misamahl’len asked intelligent questions, lacked the intractability of most of his people when it came to the subject of their culture. For a time, it had given him hope. He had not expected to meet such an elf. He had not expected to find a friend.

No, jealousy was a pale thing. Disappointment cut far deeper.

Their visits had grown brief of late. Some days there was only a passing greeting as the Inquisitor hurried upstairs to the library to meet his lover. Solas could hear them among the shelves, their laughter floating down, interrupting his concentration. He wasn’t the only one watching – not that he concerned himself overmuch with the opinions of others – but the recklessness of it only seemed to spur the boy on and provided no end of amusement for the Tevinter.

And the last time he had slipped into Misamahl’len’s dreams…. Best not to think on it. It wasn’t the things he had seen that sent him running from that place. Such dreams could not be helped and he had seen their like before. But it was the first time he had watched the Inquisitor and felt something pushing back, reminding him that he was unwanted here. It was the first time it had felt like an intrusion. The shock of it had startled him and perhaps he had lashed out without thinking, for the next morning he overheard Misamahl’len asking a guardsman about wolves howling in the hills.

He could leave this place as well, go and spend the night beneath the stars. It would certainly be preferable to enduring another night of the Qunari’s snoring. Limited resources had left them with only a pair of canvas tents and Solas with a boorish mercenary for a bunkmate. At the moment, he was pretending to sleep, stretched on his back with his arms folded beneath his massive head. It was a poor display. Every sound from the Inquisitor’s tent brought a fresh smile to the Iron Bull’s lips.

Solas sighed. If he needed somewhere to direct his ire, he need only wake his companion and engage in another debate about the philosophies of his people. The Qunari never seemed to tire of indulging him, but the distraction had become a hollow one.

"You know, there are other places you could be." The Bull’s voice rumbled deep, but his eye remained closed.

"Do you recall what happened last time? What are _you_ going to do when the foliage bursts into flame?”

He laughed. “Yeah, that was a good one. Which one of them do you think it was?”

It had been a night much like this when Solas had slipped away. Fortunately, he had not gone far or yet stepped into the Fade when lightning struck, setting a tree on the edge of camp ablaze. And so he had come rushing back, freezing the fresh charred limbs just in time to see a disheveled Misamahl’len poke his head from the tent and mutter an apology while the Tevinter cackled behind him.

When he didn’t reply, they lapsed back into silence, the Bull’s breathing growing slow and steady. Solas tried not to listen closer, tried to focus on the page before him, but again his ears betrayed him. They strained toward the sound of the Inquisitor’s muffled voice, his words spoken with reverence, spoken with pride. Solas smiled to himself. Misamahl’len was seeking to educate his companion.

He spoke of the Dalish, of the life that he had lived before the skies had ripped open. Solas had heard it all before, of course, but at least the Tevinter was respectful enough to listen without interruption. There was so much about their own history that the Dalish misremembered, but it wasn’t until they spoke of the _vallaslin_ that he found his fists clenching.

"Pretty," the Tevinter called them.

The truth had been lost, even amongst their enemies. The Dalish took great care with their blood writing, great pride… all to mark themselves as slaves. So it had been in days of old. They preserved the darkness of their past while the light dimmed and grew forgotten, until they were stumbling, too blind to see the difference. It pained him to see it. It pained him more to see it in a friend.

Of course, this would mean less than nothing to the Tevinter. For all his complaints about his homeland, he seemed unashamed of the slave trade that had built its wealth and power. Solas couldn’t fathom how Misamahl’len could submit himself to the touch of such a man. Even now he could hear him marveling at the way the marks stretched across his flesh, threatening to trace every line, every curl. Misamahl’len’s reply was muted, a wordless moan.

Solas muttered a long forgotten curse.

"So you don’t like the Vint. I get that." The Bull hadn’t been sleeping after all. "But what you’re not thinking about is _him_.”

"I am."

"No, you’re not." He pushed up on an elbow, his eye narrowing. "Everyone needs something. Contact. I’ve seen what happens when soldiers get pent up, when there’s nothing waiting for them at the end of a fight. People make mistakes. People die. And the boss has more on his shoulders than most. The weight of the fucking world. So I say good for him."

Solas closed his book with a sigh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"Better than you."

"The man is _Tevinter_.”

"Sure, he’s a Vint. A pretty one, too."

"The history between their people—"

The Bull tilted his head curiously. “Might just be the _point_. A little hate’s good for a lot of things.” He grinned. “Sometimes it’s the best part.”

Solas seethed, hissing beneath his breath.

"Oh, come on." The Qunari winked. "Don’t tell me part of you doesn’t love the idea of an elf _conquering Tevinter_.”

He pushed to his feet, tucking his book beneath his arm. “Charming.”

"Just trying to get a rise out of you."

"Which is precisely what I’m trying to do over here," the Tevinter called out. "If you two would stop your incessant prattling."

The Qunari roared with laughter. Turning on his heel, Solas slipped from the tent but Misamahl’len was waiting for him. The boy was naked to the waist, his tattoos dark in the moonlight, a fresh reminder of the wrongness of it all. Solas strode past him, making for the comfort of the trees.

"Wait!"

So he was insisting on doing this now. Perhaps it was overdue. Closing the distance between them, Solas lowered his voice. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

"Do I ever?"

"Was it not a Tevinter magister who sought to kill you, who destroyed Haven just weeks ago? Do you not remember what they—?"

"This isn’t about Corypheus. It’s not a history lesson, not the Fade, not a dream." Misamahl’len smiled to himself. "At least I hope it’s not." He shook his head. "You’ve given me good council. I’m grateful. But, in this, you don’t get a say."

"As you wish. The camp is, after all, yours Inquisitor." He turned to go, but Misamahl’len stepped round.

He nodded to the book in his hand. “We disturbed you. I’m sorry. But we weren’t actually…” Trailing off, he sighed. “I’m not going to hide this, Solas. I can’t. And I won’t do that to Dorian. It’s important.”

"So he tells you."

"It’s important to _me_. _He’s_ important to me.”

Misamahl’len held his gaze and he again felt the pulse that he has sensed in the dream, an unseen force pushing back against him. He realized that he was seeing what others saw, those who rallied to the cause and those who feared it.

Solas shook his head. “There are many things that are important, _da’len_. But you cannot have them all.” With that, he disappeared into the trees.

 

 

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